Notes on a Snakebite

Stani was a trusted bonobo caretaker who also stayed in my apartment when I went on furlough to the states every year. He watched after Rex, a guard dog German Shepard.

Stani took his job seriously, and kept meticulous notes on a tiny pad of paper, seen above. Usually, the comment was, "Nothing to note this day," but there were others such as the birth of triplet lambs, or, on the 14th of September, 1994, "it rained all night. We got our fifteenth day (of the month) advance on our pay. I made the rounds accompanied by Recks (Stani's word for Rex)."

The words from the 21st of September 1994 still chill me. Stani wrote, "A woman came, asking for Mademoiselle (me), seeking treatment for her worker, bitten by a snake in the bush, brought to Kinshasa by airplane, the health of the worker is critical."

Stani did not know who the woman was, and I never learned the outcome of what must have been a tragedy. There were plenty of venomous snakes in the field and there wasn't a drop of antivenin in all of the country, not even in the capital. Other than supportive care, medicine had little to offer a snakebite victim.

Petting Leopard in Zoo

These two were petting a "tame" leopard at the Kinshasa Zoo, Zaire (now the Democratic Rebublic of the Congo). They did not realize it, and the Congolese were too polite to tell them, but the zoo staff and public were aghast at the spectacle. For them, the lesson for the crowd was that zoo animals could be petted. The leopard had been hand reared by expatriates, so it was approachable, but certainly not worth risking a finger or hand.

An Ox in the China Closet

Here, Mayolo and I are laughing about an egg that one of our chickens had laid. Mayolo had been a bonobo keeper, but his loud voice irritated the animals, so, I transferred him to my apartment to housekeep. He was a challenge to keep employed. From Grains of Golden Sand:

"Physically attractive with a bright smile, Mayolo was a 120 pound welterweight with rippling muscles. He was strong but as clumsy as an ox in a china closet. Normally never in the apartment while he cleaned, I startled him once in my tiny kitchen—about the size and shape of a walk-in closet. Mayolo went bananas. He was so discombobulated at the two of us occupying the same finite space that he vibrated like a Mexican jumping bean. He bounced off the walls.

Boom! He hit the rusty stove and reverberated sideways.

“Mayolo! Whoa!”

“Mademoiselle!?”

He whacked the leaning wooden shelves, and a dozen glass pieces rattled ominously. Wham! He knocked down a basin from the counter.

“Please, Mayolo!”

“Mademoiselle!”

He fell into the refrigerator and it tipped on its moorings. A precious wineglass flew to the floor from on top and smashed into smithereens.

“Calm yourself, Mayolo!”

“Can’t help it, Mademoiselle,” Mayolo stuttered with anguish. “Makes me jumpy! Ugh!…smother in this place!”

The problem was that I happened to be standing in the doorway and was blocking his escape. He barreled past me like a tucked-in quarterback and knocked me sidelong against the doorjamb.

I heard him squeak, “Oh! Oh, so sorry, Mademoiselle!” as he fled to the other room.

I didn’t know if he was claustrophobic or just totally unused to the inside of a swanky “non-hut,” but I suspected that my place was setting Mayolo’s nerve on edge. Over several months, my kitchenware was completely “Mayoloized.”"

Stani, Bonobos, and Gorilla

Stani is grinning, while carrying fifty pounds of bonobo (five) plus a baby gorilla that is high-tailing it down Stani's leg, because she didn't like the others. In 1996, at the request of the Ministry of Environment, I flew to Bukavu to pick up a gorilla confiscated from poachers in the Kahuzi-Biega Park.

The young gorilla was a female named Kidole (for "finger," because she had a white digit) and we hoped that she would socialize with the bonobos. However, they did not get along. Kidole had multiple health issues and unfortunately, she succumbed to hepatitis after ten weeks.

Photo by D. Messinger

Theo and Baby Bonobo

Theo was a mild mannered keeper, well suited for his nanny job with the young bonobos. Physically, Theo was a stick-thin man much shorter than I. His stature was a trial for him because skinniness advertised “poor.” Theo had a nurturing soul, and he didn’t mind bottle feeding the babies and letting them hang from him so he looked like a moving bush with hairy fruit.

Photo by D. Messinger

Theo with Three Bonobos

Theo was a bonobo keeper who took care of the youngest animals. From Grains of Golden Sand:

"Every morning Theo would prepare breakfast for the baby bonobos, and they would leap onto his shoulders for their ride to the bonobo building where he would close himself in a cage with them for the day. The baby bonobos socialized with Hani, Rosie, and Zuani, the adolescent bonobos next door until it was time to go to bed. On rounds at odd hours, I’d catch Theo sound asleep with a couple of bonobos snoozing beside him and another quietly playing with her toes on an overhead bench. That was Theo’s job, and he performed it admirably. He was also the most diplomatic of the keepers, and whenever the men had a work-related gripe, Theo was elected spokesman to present the case to “management”—me."

Photo by D. Messinger

Innocent and Texas

Innocent, my driver, was an important part of the team that cared for the orphaned bonobos. From Grains of Golden Sand:

"Innocent was a smooth operator, which was saying a lot, given the horrific conditions of the roads and traffic. Nothing rattled him—not side-swiping semis, slews of blaring taxis, riots of ticket-evaders hanging off buses (to combat this, some bus companies welded giant spikes on their bumpers), bottomless potholes, darting pedestrians, and thieves on the prowl for unprotected mirrors, antennas, and headlight covers.

"There were no rules of the road, and Innocent knew how to maneuver the lack of them all. In his head he carried a map of the convoluted roadways, unnamed city streets, one-way alleyways, and shortcuts to our destinations. At drivers’ rest stops, he conferred with fellow chauffeurs and thus kept track of how to avoid roving police barricades, mobile bandit gangs, and the downed bridge, flooded crossing, or odd street construction. His was a full-time occupation. Besides chauffeuring me and guarding the truck while I did errands, Innocent freed me from a deluge of onerous duties by running about town in my place.

"Innocent dearly loved “his” Texas. He’d worked for many years as a driver for the Belgian Military Cooperation and was trained in the formal, cavalry style. That is to say, every morning the hood was raised, and Texas got a complete stem-to-stern examination. Fuel, oil, radiator coolant, and windshield-washing fluid levels were inspected, the headlights, brake lights and turn-indicators were checked, the tires examined, battery cables jiggled, hoses studied and tightened. Every single work day. Innocent was committed to his job, and he sulked if I suggested that it was not necessary to do this every morning. After all, he was a professional and to suggest that he do anything less was to demean his occupation."

Photo by D. Messinger